“See to it, Guy, if any harm comes to her.”

“Pshaw!” said the other, “she is recovering now.”

He was right.  The eyes of the sufferer unclosed, but they were vacant—­they lacked all intelligence.  Munro pulled a flask of spirits from his pocket, and poured some into her lips.  They were livid, and her cheeks of ashy paleness.

“She recovers—­see!”

The teeth opened and shut together again with a sudden spasmodic energy.  The eyes began to receive light.  Her breathing increased.

“She will do now,” muttered Munro.  “She will recover directly.  Get yourself ready, Guy, and prepare to mount, while I see that she is put to bed.  It’s now a necessity that we should push this stranger to the wall, and silence him altogether.  I don’t oppose you now, seeing that we’ve got to do it.”

“Ay,” quoth Rivers, somewhat abstractedly—­for he was a person of changing and capricious moods—­“ay! ay! it has to be done!  Well! we will do it!—­as for her!”

Here he drew nigh and grasped the hand of the only half-conscious damsel, and stared earnestly in her face.  Her eyes opened largely and wildly upon him, then closed again; a shudder passed over her form, and her hand was convulsively withdrawn from his grasp.

“Come, come, let her alone, and be off,” said Munro.  “As long as you are here, she’ll be in a fit!  See to the horses.  There’s no use to wait.  You little know Lucy Munro if you reckon to get anything out of her.  You may strike till doomsday at her bosom, but, where she’s fixed in principle, she’ll perish before she yields.  Nothing can move her when she’s resolved.  In that she’s the very likeness of her father, who was like a rock when he had sworn a thing.”

“Ha! but the rock may be split, and the woman’s will must be made to yield to a superior.  I could soon—­”

He took her hand once more in his iron grasp.

“Let her go, Guy!” said Munro sternly.  “She shall have no rough usage while I’m standing by.  Remember that!  It’s true, she’s meddled in matters that didn’t concern her, but there is an excuse.  It was womanlike to do so, and I can’t blame her.  She’s a true woman, Guy—­all heart and soul—­as noble a young thing as ever broke the world’s bread—­too noble to live with such as we, Guy; and I only wish I had so much man’s strength as to be worthy of living with such as she.”

“A plague on her nobility!  It will cut all our throats, or halter us; and your methodistical jargon only encourages her.  Noble or not, she has been cunning enough to listen to our private conversation; has found out all our designs; has blabbed everything to this young fellow, and made him master of our lives.  Yes! would you believe it of her nobleness and delicacy, that she has this night visited him in his very chamber?”

“What!”

“Yes! indeed! and she avows it boldly.”

“Ah! if she avows it, there’s no harm!”